Breaking Apart
by ZeDancingHobbit
Summary: Post Strength in Numbers. Blaise's world just cracked open, and Mal is there to help pick up the shattered pieces. (This is in the universe of if the unthinkable happens to dear ole' Jeremy) Mal and Blaise friendship-fluff-ish. Angsty. Mild language. Complete.


** Hi everybody! **

** Okay. Okay okay okay. So, with that episode, Strength in Numbers? Okay. Spazzing. In my opinion, they're not gonna kill him off (duh, it's Jeremy, for Pete's sake), but holy cow ASKFASLKHF they got some really great whump in. Gah. You all know me and my whump... Actually it's exactly what I've been wanting to happen for a while now haha. But ANYWAYS. This little baby started cooking up in my mind (in case he DOESN'T make it :O) so yeah. I hope you enjoy! **

** Disclaimer: If i owned CoD, it would be great. But I don't. **

Blaise Corso, the firebrand with the golden hair and the trigger-happy fingers, is, for once, at a loss for what to do. There is nothing she can say, nothing she can hear, nothing she can do that will alleviate this horrible, giant, extreme ache in her chest.

Her partner is dead, and there is nothing she can do about it.

_"Too much blood loss."_

_"Too much damage."_

_"Nothing we can do."_

_"So sorry."_

The words echo in her mind as they drive away from the hospital. Mal volunteered to drive her home, and she sits in the passenger seat in silence. Neither of them know what to do with themselves.

_Sorry_. She doesn't want their pity. Blaise Corso scoffs at pity. Pity is for weaklings, losers. Failures.

Failures.

She failed Jeremy.

The thought sparks tears in her eyes, but she brusquely blinks them away, replacing the sadness with an angry glare, and stares out the window of the car. Mal glances over at her, concerned, and chances, "You okay, Blaise?"

"Fine," she snaps, not trusting herself to look at him because otherwise she'll burst into tears and disgrace herself.

"It's okay to...not be," Mal answers, a sad, tired tone in his voice. He sounds weary and sad and horrible. "I mean, this hit us all pretty hard, but he's- was your partner, and-"

"Yeah, well, I'm fine, Mal," she barks back, still staring resolutely out the window. Cars zoom past, shiny in the falling rain, and a couple lets an umbrella fall as they embrace in it. Their lips lock and their arms encircle one another, pawing and grasping, and Blaise both wants them to get a room and, in a non creepy way, watch them be so happy. Happy.

Ugh.

They silently continue on their way, long past the smooching couple, until they find their way to Blaise's apartment. Her mother will undoubtedly be asleep at the moment, weak heart and body necessitating the need for frequent sleep. Good. Blaise doesn't want to talk to her. Or anyone, for that matter. All she wants to do is go home, lay down on her bed, and-

Not cry, she reminds . Never cry. Not during the first few shocking seconds after the news. Not when she staggered into a chair and put her head in her hands. And certainly not now. Big girls don't cry.

Mal pulls up to the apartment and stops, letting the engine idle. He sighs and sets a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Blaise," is all he says.

"Me too," she rasps, all she can get past that ever-increasing, damn lump in her throat. She pauses, not wanting to move, but eventually forcing herself to get up and out of the car. "Bye, Mal."

"Bye, Blaise," he answers solemnly, and then she closes the door and is gone. She manages to stumble up the walk-way and fumble with her keys, unlocking the door and stepping in.

The house is dark, but clean. A few dishes are on the table, and a couch cushion or two are on the floor, but asides from that its fairly clean. She was right; there's no sign of her mother around, she must be asleep. She sighs, a headache starting to throb behind her temples. The dark is mildly comforting, in some odd way. Maybe because she will do anything not to see the blood on her skin.

Her foot suddenly tangles in something, and she looks down to see a shirt. It's a male's shirt, one she instantly recognizes as Jeremy's, probably left over from their latest romp. She picks it up and breathes the scent in. It's deep and sexy and has just a hint of cinnamon. The realization that she'll never have the chance to smell his colonge again because he's dead, dead, _dead_ hits her like a ton of bricks, and she stumbles backwards from the sheer force of it. Her back hits a wall and she slides down it until she is sitting on the ground, her face crumpled and tears finally making their way down her face. She's given up trying to keep them away, the damn little things insisting on breaking out. With every drop that comes down her face, more are added, and soon her back is shaking from the agonized sobs ripping themselves from her throat. She presses her hand over her mouth to muffle them, not wanting to awaken her mother, but it does nothing to abate them. She weeps wholeheartedly, albeit quietly, allowing the floodgates to open.

With her free hand, she gathers the shirt to her chest, smashing it against her bosom. Her gaze is filled with images of Jeremy; Jeremy shooting, Jeremy laughing, Jeremy frowning, Jeremy running, Jeremy making fun of her, Jeremy kissing her. They whirl together in a swirling ball, mashing together in front of her face until its more than she can bear.

"Jeremy," she gasps out, "Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy..."

Suddenly, her crying is interrupted by a knock at the door. She tries to still her cries by taking in great, gasping breaths that hurt, ripping at her windpipe and her lungs, but they don't do anything to lessen the flow. She doesn't answer, hoping the person won't hear her and will leave, but a few seconds later she hears a knock again and Mal say, "Blaise? You left your phone in my car. Can I come in?"

"Go away," she calls, her voice shaky and full of tears.

Mal, being Mal, doesn't heed her order and cracks open the door. "Here, you're going to ne-" As he pokes his head through the doorway, he catches sight of his former partner huddled in a ball on the floor, hand clamped over her mouth and a shirt clutched to her bosom. "Oh, Blaise," he whispers, and, all thoughts of the cellphone forgotten, crosses the floor and kneels on one knee beside her. The simple gesture breaks open the dam once more, and her wracking sobs start up once again. Her whole body shakes with their force and she bows her head, squeezing her eyes shut so she doesn't have to look at Mal.

Mal gently hugs her, circling an arm around her back and one around her shoulders. She buries her face in the crook between his neck and his shoulder, allowing herself to break loose to him, for once.

"Shh," Mal soothes her, rubbing her back softly. "It's gonna be okay."

"No it's not," Blaise sobs, "it's not, it's not."

Mal seems content to leave it at that, being willing to simply sit and hold her as she breaks down. She clings to him like leaf in a storm, unable to withstand against the pummeling waves of grief. Her fingers clench and unclench, fighting subconciously. She cries so hard she nearly gags, hacking and gasping. She has no recognition of the passing of time, doesn't know how long she sits on the floor, weak with anguish. All she is aware of is Mal's strong hands encompassing her, the soft rocking of his body, the pain unleashed from her heart, and the shirt bundled up against her.

Eventually the rocky cries subside, and she is left resting her head against his shoulder. Her breath hiccoughs in her chest, and her eyes are red and swollen, but some of the hurt has dissipated, the rock of grief holed up in her chest a fraction smaller.

Mal shifts slightly, just undoubtedly prickling uncomfortably, and she lifts up her head. "M'sorry," she mumbles, and moves to lean away from him.

He'll have none of that, though, and he brings her back to him. He squeezes her in a hug for a few seconds, resting his jaw on her forehead, before raising her chin and holding it in both his hands. "Never," he enunciates slowly, carefully, cerulean eyes boring deep into her own, "be sorry for feeling something. Especially-" he nods to the wadded-up shirt, a knowing smirk entering his eyes "-something like this."

Blaise ducks her head, feeling tears brim up and spill over once more. Mal brings a finger under her chin and tips it up gently, bringing his other thumb and brushing the drops away. "I'm here, Blaise," he whispers, and kisses her forehead.

And for now, even though her world just cracked open and her heart feels like its splitting in two and all she wants is to see Jeremy again...

It's enough.

**Please drop me a review, if you'd be so kind. AND, AND AND AND, I have a happier-ending oneshot in mind dealing with this same subject...would you be interested in seeing it? **

**Mwah!**


End file.
